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“Don’t even joke, Mom.”
I smiled while I rolled my eyes, and discarded a pair of high-waisted jeans that screamed mom jeans. “He’s going to love it, and then next time, what you make will be even better. The only place you’ll have to go is up.”
It was a horrible thing to say, and I didn’t feel that way about his cooking. But I knew he did, and this would be hope to him.
“Okay.” He didn’t sound convinced. “But only because I only have two hours and forty-five minutes now. What are you doing, by the way?”
Heat rushed into my cheeks. “Getting ready for a date. But I don’t know what to wear.” Something I hadn’t done a lot of while he was growing up, but I hadn’t done a lot of it before he arrived, either.
He was forever encouraging me to find a guy. To get laid. His uncle’s influence, I assumed.
“Anyone I know?” Lucas asked.
“Unlikely.” I hated lying to him. I hadn’t even told him Santa was real when he was a kid. The only way I justified the decision now was because he didn’t know Eli, Lucas simply worshiped a character Eli had played on TV years ago.
Which was the number one reason I wasn’t mentioning names now.
“What about the shirt with the lace sleeves and the flower graphic?” Lucas asked.
“The one that screams grandma?”
He gave a short laugh. “Nothing about you screams grandma, Mom. Wear that with the jeans that have the tears in the thighs—the pair you refuse to throw out—leggings underneath and pull your hair up.”
“Okay, so I’ll look like an eighties music video reject instead.” Should I wear my slouch socks and pink Reeboks, too?
“You’ll be comfortable, and he’s not going to be looking at your outfit, he’s going to be imagining what’s underneath it.”
Yup, definitely Andrew’s influence in there. But I was out of time. “Fine. Thank you. Have fun tonight.”
“You too. Love you, Mom.” Lucas hung up.
The drive to the lot where they were filming was torture. More than an hour in the car to second-guess all of my life choices that lead up to this point, especially the jeans that were definitely comfy, but were also worn this way because my thighs rubbed together when I walked, and now I was advertising that fact.
But I didn’t have time to turn around and go back, and the longer I drove, the more that became the case.
When I got to the lot, it was a lot easier for me to find the crew this time. There was a flow to the place that was like organized chaos, and once I put my trepidation of a new place aside, I felt exactly how things were supposed to flow.
Within a few moments, I’d found the camera crew and actors. But Eli was nowhere to be seen.
Andrew was here though, watching filming from the background. “Rumor is, you’re going out with my fixer.”
“Rumor is right. Is that a problem?”
Andrew studied me. “You look like you know he doesn’t care what you’re wearing.”
Hurt splintered inside me, and I smothered it with anger blended with apathy. “Since when are you a fashionista?”
“I’m male. You’re hinting at as much skin as you’re hiding.”
In the background, the director yelledcutfor the fifth time in as many minutes.
It wasn’t like I’d tossed on a teddy and thrown a trench coat over it. Also, I didn’t like that kind of analysis from him. “Gross.”
“I’m being objective, not creepy. And I’m not trying to be mean.”
One of the problems with Andrew was, when he let the teasing fall away, he got blunt. Okay, that usually wasn’t a problem, but today I didn’t appreciate it.
The director yelledcutagain, and the round of groans that rose up was notable.
